


The floes under our feet bled into the sea.

by whatamidoingwithmylife



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: BTW, Break Up, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Post-The X Factor Era, Sad, The X Factor Era, This is like what reality would be if they had broken up but they didn't so still AU, but you can stop reading before it gets sad?, i mean she is but she is not, i mention eleanor but she's not important, i'm not good at this, is sad a spoiler?, it's more like their whole relationship so far, so many feels, sorry about that
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-20
Updated: 2014-03-20
Packaged: 2018-01-16 09:26:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,570
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1342126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whatamidoingwithmylife/pseuds/whatamidoingwithmylife
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Entering The X Factor changed a lot of things for Harry. His room with a bed just for him became a room he shared with people he didn't even know, the hugs from his mother when he woke up became loud voices from competitors, the smell of the bakery he worked at became the sound that his vocal cords made.</p><p>He found out new things about himself and about the world – the kind of things that you only discover once you are somewhere new for the first time doing things you never did before. He was living a dream and he had no idea that people could live in two dreams at the same time. A small intersection, one that was not at all easy to locate and keep yourself in. His second dream came in the shape of a boy."</p>
            </blockquote>





	The floes under our feet bled into the sea.

Entering The X Factor changed a lot of things for Harry. His room with a bed just for him became a room he shared with people he didn't even know, the hugs from his mother when he woke up became loud voices from competitors, the smell of the bakery he worked at became the sound that his vocal cords made. 

He found out new things about himself and about the world – the kind of things that you only discover once you are somewhere new for the first time doing things you never did before. He was living a dream and he had no idea that people could live in two dreams at the same time. A small intersection, one that was not at all easy to locate and keep yourself in. His second dream came in the shape of a boy.

It started innocently, with laughs, small touches, secrets exchange between two band members. It all made Harry feel warm at the same time that butterflies tried to break through his skin from the inside, but he tried not to show how much it affected him. 

_It's just a crush. It will be over soon._

He'd stare at the constellations in those blue eyes, laugh at all the jokes the voice he would play on repeat every night when he got to bed told him, run his fingers through that light-brown hair that felt so smooth against his skin, lean into Louis every time he'd touch him, melt into every hug, smile stupidly at every text the older boy would send him.

_He's your best friend now. Don't screw this up by having feelings._

Harry is almost sure that the others started noticing. He can see it with the corner of his eyes when its focus are on Louis, he can see it in the conversations the others seem to have with eyes and smiles when he and Louis touch or laugh or breathe near each other. He can see it on the eleventh time he replays a video of all of them and start to focus on someone who isn't Louis for the first time.

It must be very pathetic, really. Sometimes his eyes are stuck on the little details of Louis' face and his ears ignore every noise that won't make him feel that there is a blanket wrapping every inch of his body and when he comes back to the world where more than two people exist, there are traces of everything he thought and everything he felt in the air. They are getting easier and easier to notice. They are starting to linger for a longer amount of time. What if Louis notices? What if he already did but ignored it?

He fights it. He tries to ignore it. He tries to hide it. But how can he hide something that feels so much bigger than himself? 

He tries to wash it away. He looks for his feelings in the water that is running down his body (some of it is salty but he doesn't want to admit it to himself – or to his burning eyes) but he can't seem to find it, though. He thought the water would wash Louis away from his head, but it ended up melting and spreading the thoughts to his whole body and then burning it deeper. Deeper in his mind and deeper in his heart.

**XXXXX**

Louis starts to act differently. 

Harry can see that there is a secret folded inside of the older boy's pocket. He wonders the shape and colors of the secret and what Louis would do if it was stolen from him. He wonders if the shape and colors of it match the ones from the secret that is trying to scape the pocket on the left-side of his shirt.

He hopes that they do.

They begin some sort of game. They want to see how much they can push each other until one of them breaks and reveals his secret. They play it off as jokes but deep down they know there's something more. 

It gets harder and harder for Harry to stop the words from forming. Louis is present in his life all of the time, not allowing him to think properly, to act properly and to breathe properly. Or maybe he is the one who makes it all possible.

**XXXXX**

They are happy. 

No. Something better. 

They are drunk. 

They are alone in their flat and they are drunk. _Our flat_ , Harry thinks. He quite likes the sound of that possessive pronoun.

They are laughing and the world is spinning – or maybe they are the ones spinning. He is not sure. 

_I love your smell_ , Harry thinks out loud and Louis laughs. Louis says that's only because, right now, he smells like whiskey. _I love that too_.

Drunk eyes meet. Were Louis' eyes always that bright? He must have gotten distracted thinking about how much he likes the way drunk Louis looks at him because suddenly the other boy is closer than he was before. Louis' mouth gets closer. _Closer_ , the curly haired boy thinks. He wishes. 

He gets his wish and then lips touch. He can hear fireworks somewhere. Or maybe it's just his heart.

Louis offers him an apple. Harry has wanted it for so long that he is not able to respond to it with anything other than Yes, please. He takes a bite. He waits for when they will be thrown out of paradise – but the only things that are thrown are their clothes to the floor. 

But still, he waits.

**XXXXX**

The morning light brings doubts, uncertainty, fear... It brings everything that the unknown brings.

But once they are both awake and with found smiles in their lips, it all vanishes. At the same time it all feels different, it's still just them. It's just them and they are easy. They feel right. And that's all they could wish for, really.

So they begin to dance.

It starts slow, tentative. They need to get used to how the other moves, to learn to move at the same time. They try different steps to see if the other follows, if they can keep up. They learn new things about each other in every sway, with every spin.

Harry starts to fall and Louis catches him, but somehow he feels that he is still falling. He will never stop falling.

The rhythm changes from time to time but after a while their movements become more precise. They have learned all the movements they are allowed to make and the ones that would ruin their choreography. They move at the same tempo because they have learned to predict each others moves. They move at the same tempo because their bodies' song is now the same.

They hope that they are dancing to a song that will never stop. 

**XXXXX**

It's a normal day. 

Harry wakes Louis up with a cup of his favorite brand of tea, they eat breakfast together, watch television and talk. They spend the whole day doing nothing special, but somehow, the things they do make them _feel_ special.

They are pressed against each other on the couch. Louis is drawing circles with his thumb on Harry's hand and they are quiet. They can't remember how much time has passed, but it got dark a long time ago.

 _I love you_ , Louis whispers, as if he didn't want to break the comfort that had settled around them.

The space of time between Louis' words and Harry's next words is full, but not with silence. It's filled with all of their stares and touches. The promises they have made to each other, the ones they haven't made yet and the one they are making now. All the good and bad things they have been through and all the things that will happen to them. Smiles, laughs, tears, secrets. Reality and fantasy. All the things that matter to them and to no one else. Everything they know and everything they don't. Rushed infinities of them being themselves and one at the same time. 

It is full of... _them_.

 _I think I'll never be able to love anyone as much as I love you_ , Harry whispers back.

They stare at each other. Louis has dark circles around his eyes. There is a little bit of chocolate in the corner of his mouth and he looks tired and sleepy. But there's also a spark in his eyes that has the same essence as happiness and a smile threatening to split his face in half. Harry thinks he never looked more beautiful. 

How can a body made of skin contain so much love inside its tiny cells?

They connect their lips, unaware that they are also connecting their souls.

How can a normal day contain every simple little thing that makes one truly happy?

**XXXXX**

They are easy but their situation is not. They have to hide their relationship from the rest of the world because of contracts and because they know the world wouldn't understand and accept it – but that's okay because the people who matter most to them know and understand and accept it and still love them. 

_(I can't change. It is what it is.)_

Harry feels bad about lying to the fans, about lying about who he really is and who he really loves. He often thinks that it is the world's loss not to know about them, really. They were the ones losing the opportunity to see such a pure and beautiful and amazing feeling. He wished he could show people that things like true love were possible. They could happen. They _are_ happening.

_(I don't care what people say when we're together. You know I wanna be the one to hold you when you sleep. I just want it to be you and I forever.)_

Actually, Harry thinks it is quite surprising that most fans cannot see what is pretty obvious for him. He looks at cameras and feels extremely exposed. He can sense that there are four-letters-words written in every inch of his skin. Two different words written over and over again by his feelings that couldn't keep themselves beneath the skin. They wanted the whole world to read them. 

Two words. Both started with L. 

**XXXXX**

He has memorized every single one of Louis' smiles. All the crinkles by his eyes, every story behind every scar on the other boy's tanned skin, the waves in his eyes that insist on pulling Harry in even more every time he is close to them, how every single one of his muscles contract as he moves (specially when they are in bed). And, if he concentrates, Harry is sure he can remember the sound of Louis' heart beating. It sounds like the universe telling him everything is okay.

He often spends minutes studding the same spot on Louis skin, analyzing and trying to make sure he will remember about that inch of skin. He wants to be able to draw in his mind the curves of Louis fingerprints. He finds them extremely fascinating and inexplicably beautiful.

He wants to write a book with all of Louis' little things that he likes in it. He wants to never forget how the right corner of Louis lips lifts up just slightly more then the left one in the middle of his sentences when he is about to say something he knows will be funny. Or how, when the twins ask him to spin them, his right foot will be chased by the left first and how when it's the other sister in his arms, he will make the left foot be chased while he spins turning to the left this time. 

Sometimes he thinks everyone would fall in love with Louis if they saw the same things he did. If they saw the pieces of him he lets only his family and closest friends see. And especially the one he thinks no one sees. So maybe not a book. So maybe Harry will continue to paint the walls of his mind with pieces of Louis and try to keep those pieces to himself only. That way he feels important.

But every little thing they do feels important. Harry is sure every word they say are inked in his mind. Every touch burns through his skin and leaves an invisible mark on his body. When he touches his lips he can feel all the kisses there and all the _Iloveyou_ s that came out of it. His body became a constant reminder of the older boy just like all the places became a “ _This is where Lou..._ ” places.

**XXXXX**

Harry walks into a bathroom that has clothes on the floor and a beautiful boy under running water singing at the top of his lungs. He joins him.

Their voices blend together in the air, a catchy pop song from years ago dancing in it. A few seconds later there is laughter with it. If happiness had a color, it would be seen in the air.

 _You know_ , Louis stars while Harry is still trying to catch his breath, _when I first heard you sing, I thought you were a mermaid._

Harry tries to turn his face to him, but Louis starts washing his curly hair and it becomes kind of impossible to do so. _You thought I was a girl that didn't exist?_

_No, you silly! It's just that, depending on the version you choose to believe, mermaids are supposed to be these magical creatures that are extremely beautiful and, when they sing, every man gets hypnotized by the most amazing voice they ever heard._

_But isn't it just to attract men to their deaths?_

_Well, I could tell that you'd be the death of me right then, Curly. I felt like I was drowning in your voice. Or maybe I was just really high, I don't remember._ Harry can feel that the last part was said with a crocked smile on his face.

Harry turned his face to his lover this time. He grabbed his face between his hands and looked right into blue. It made sense what Louis had said, but it shouldn't be about himself. It should be about Louis. _Louis_ was magical, _Louis'_ voice had a way to pull Harry from whatever he was doing to find the owner of it and Louis had the ocean in him. He had blue eyes that could make Harry want to know how deep it was and get lost in it, not worrying if he would ever came back – not wanting to ever come back; that could pull Harry in with more force than any sea or magical creature ever could.

_You're not drowning. We are sailing. We are sailing together._

**XXXXX**

Harry is tired. 

Louis' eyes are almost closed now. Harry can see that the other boy is also struggling to stay awake, as if they don't want to stop looking at each other, not even to sleep. Why is sleep necessary when you are in love?

Eyes close. He breathes in. It smells like Louis. He lets if fill his lungs. It feels right. It feels perfect. The corner of his lips lift up.

Nose to neck. Harry tries to keep his breathing steady. Air in and out. In and out.

It's quiet but it's not. The room is filled with Harry's favorite and second favorite sounds. The first one is of Louis. Just Louis breathing. Existing. The second one is of both of their breathes making the same sound at the same time. Of both of them existing together.

**XXXXX**

The world starts to feel small, and not just because they were all over it with their songs, their concerts, their names coming out of fans' mouths all over the planet...

It feels small because it feels suffocating.

Wherever they go there are people watching their every move, analyzing them. Harry is not allowed to touch Louis all the times he wants to, to stare for too long, to look as in love as he feels. _No one should be stopped from looking as in love as they feel. The world would be better like that_ , is the thought that often crosses the boy's mind.

Sometimes they cry, get sad, get angry, scream at each other, blame the world, blame each other, blame themselves. Sometimes when the pressure is too much they think about ending it. Maybe if they were not together anymore things would be easier because there would be nothing to hide. No, that was crazy. They didn't allow themselves to think of it for too long because that would never work. Breaking up with the person who has a heart made to fit your own is never easy. It would only make things even more difficult and unbearable. They could deal with the fact that the world sucked, but they could not deal with not being together anymore. Sometimes love isn't enough, but with them it is enough for them to do all the other stuff that really keep them together. At least for now.

But, at the same time, their flat is getting bigger. Big enough to keep their whole world – each other – between its walls. Being home means no masks, more touches, stolen kisses at anytime of the day just because they can. It fits them and everything they are and everything they are yet to be. It fits their soul and the two bodies it lives in.

**XXXXX**

They used to hold hands all the time, kiss on the cheek, hug without a reason, play with each other.

They told them to stop.

They used to be in their own world during interviews, make signs at each other that indicated their love, have private conversations during concerts, go out together.

They told them to stop.

Louis used to call Harry only by nicknames, touch his hair all the time, make him do or say things in front of everybody during concerts. Harry used to look only at Louis when they were supposed to say something, talk about Louis during interviews even when there was no need to, seat only by his boyfriend's side during signings.

They told them to stop.

The things they were allowed to do in public were reduced, but somehow it only made the things they could do feel more special.

Harry couldn't give Louis kisses, so he bit his lips when Louis could see them. He couldn't hug him in public all of the time, so he patted his back. He couldn't give him blowjobs whenever he wanted, so he painted dirty images with words that were for Louis' ears, eyes and mind only. He couldn't leave love bites in all the places he wanted, to show to the whole world that Louis was his, so he would make sure he kissed every inch of his lover's skin and pray that people could sense the invisible trails that his love left there. He couldn't say he loved him, so he would look at Louis while he sang something that reminded him of them. They couldn't be together all of the time, so they were when they could.

**XXXXX**

Harry likes to trace the lines of the smaller boy's tattoos, all of them, even the ones that do not pair up with any of his own, but specially the ones Louis did for him. 

They thought that it was a good idea to do tattoos that were for each other, that meant something for both of them. If they could not tell the world that they were in love, they would let the ink in their body scream it – not that the world could translate it, but they could and that was enough.

He also likes to draw new invisible ones with his fingertips in every non-inked place in Louis' body. He likes, no, he _loves_ , everything about the person that is lying in bed with him. Even the things he doesn't like or doesn't know, he loves. He loves them because they are part of what makes Louis Louis and Louis being Louis is what makes Louis love Harry.

If he was to write poetry, he would write Louis. Each verse would be the boy's laugh, his smile, his eyes. It would be his movements and how his existence affected everyone he met. It would be their bodies creating music while they clashed one against the other. It would be about how Louis could be a Saturday night and also a Sunday morning. It would be perfect in its imperfections. There would be jokes and sass running around it, trying to get you to play with them. If you could taste it, it would taste like something sweet and brave. If you could hear it, you would hear the most beautiful melody ever played – a heart beating. If you could see it shining then you would feel warm and safe. You would feel happier. You would feel love. And you would feel Louis.

**XXXXX**

They thought they were being discrete. They really did. But they must have done something wrong because there is Larry Stylinson on Twitter's trend topics. 

Harry loves that some of their fans can see through their act and recognize what they have and actually support then. But he hates it too because their management hates it and it means that Louis is about to receive a long visit from Eleanor.

Eleanor is a sweet girl and Harry and Louis are glad to have her but it doesn't mean that they like that they need her. When they decided to be together, Louis thought it would be better if one of them had a fake relationship. Of course Harry wouldn't be able to fake something like that so Louis never asked him to, he just offered himself to do it for them. It didn't mean that Harry was in love with the idea or that he liked the girl that made his life easier, but Louis liked her and she did help them a lot, so he guessed it was okay.

But it wasn't. It wasn't because now they have a very reduced time for themselves. They have a lot of things they are not allowed to do anymore and most of the time they spend together is spent working. So when Louis said he had to spend the few days they had free, and were supposed to spend together, with Eleanor, it wasn't okay.

_Do you really have to? It was supposed to be just you and me and no one else this weekend and now you're not even gonna be in the same country as I!_

_Of course I have to! Have you checked Twitter? They even said bad things about her! Maybe if you were more discreet sometimes I wouldn't have to-_

_Oh, so it's my fault now? Really? Even though you are the one that_ -

And so they yell. They scream their insecurities at each other, they cry their frustrations and they start to break a little. Harry gets out of the room because the walls were already too red from the words that were thrown and ricocheted there and the color made his eyes burn. But more than the words, he hates that they are fighting, doesn't matter the reason. He can remember all the fights they ever had, but lately is getting harder to keep track of them.

Later that week there are photos of Louis holding Eleanor close to his body and smiling at her and even one of them kissing, all over the internet. Harry doesn't want to look at them but he does. He looks at what he feels like he will never be able to have with Louis. He feels that they will never be able to kiss each other in public and he already knew that, but it is starting to hurt more intensely every time he thinks about it. So he stays there, looking at impossible possibilities.

**XXXXX**

They manege to find time for themselves. They have three days that they will not share with no one else. They have three days and a beautiful place to lose themselves and find each other in. It is supposed to be a trip to try to convince themselves that everything is fine between them. 

But it's not. 

They have silences that are uncomfortable. They look at the sea and later at the stars more than at each others eyes. They have to try to make the most of it when they used to just do it, without thinking about it and without having to try. 

They almost fight a lot of times. They stop because they don't want to ruin their weekend, but all the words that are not shouted at each other leave the air heavy.

Harry feels that they are trying to hold on to something that keeps escaping through their fingers, no matter how tight is their grip.

It's not that bad all of the time, though. They have a lot of fun when they stop listening to their thoughts and kiss a lot and their bodies dance together a horizontal dance for hours.

There's a thin layer of cloth separating Harry's body from the sand. He watches the sunshine covering every inch of Louis' exposed skin, envying it and wishing he could wrap himself around Louis' body like that all of the time. He watches as Louis gets up and offers him a hand. He takes it and gets on his feet. They run.

For a few minutes they run towards the sea and then after a ball, but all the time they are trying to run after each other. There are banters and inside jokes. There are laughter and happiness. There are clothes hitting the sand and bodies throwing themselves at waves. There are two boys kissing and forgetting everything that is not about what they are doing and feeling at the moment. 

When Harry wakes up, he's got Louis in his arms, their legs tangled together. The older boy was looking at him and it seemed that he had been doing that for quite some time. Harry stares back.

While they gaze at each other, Harry's thoughts shout at him, trying to make him realize that they are only fooling themselves. 

He can see in Louis' face that the other boy came to that conclusion as well. He can see all the cracks in their relationship, all the bruises that it has because of all the times they didn't know how to handle it. He can see scars that don't heal and make it easier for the things they are trying to keep with them to slip away. He can see that they are going faster and faster in the direction of a solid wall that is certainly going to break them to pieces that they won't be able to put back together.

He can see all that and he is sure that Louis can see it too. So they pretend they don't, trying to buy themselves more time, making promises with smiles that don't reach eyes and eyes that are already telling them that they won't be able to keep them. They kiss each other lightly and softly and it tastes like an apology. Then they kiss hard and desperate, trying to mend everything they know they can't. They write poetry with their bodies and it is beautiful. Harry always thought that the best poetry are written by people that are breaking. 

He knows that for sure now.

**XXXXX**

It's a sunny day. The colors are intense and the hotness of the day is mixed with joy from everyone who is making the most of it. There are birds singing and everything is music and brightness.

Everything is bright, but Harry is gray.

If the day was to match his mood, it would also be gray. It would be cold and there would be storm – if he was crying on the inside, the world should be crying as strong and as desperately as him. There would be no laughter in the air, no bird singing, no sound of cheerful conversations, no leafs dancing around kids or trying to see the world far from their trees. Everything would be desert, empty.

He stares at the cigarette between his fingers and wonders how could they have done nothing to stop things from changing.

They didn't grow out of love, but they grew apart.

It was never up to them what would happen in their lives. They could not go out together anymore because they wouldn't allow. They could only travel together if one of the other boys was with them. They had to have fake relationships or fake rumors about one at least once every two months. They were watching people take control of their lives because they thought it was best for the band and did not think about what was best for themselves.

_People will be sick of us in a few years and then we can be together._

But then they started to fight a lot, get jealous way too much since it was only to help themselves that they were seen with girls and other friends that often, get into arguments over nothing and, although they almost always would make up for the things that were said or done immediately after – usually in bed –, sometimes it wasn't enough. Maybe they loved each other with all their hearts but didn't know how to love each other properly yet.

_(Don't let me go.)_

They spent so much time on tour trying not to touch each other, not to look at each other, avoiding being together in the same room by themselves because there were cameras everywhere. They were separated during interviews so they wouldn't isolate themselves inside their little world, focus on themselves instead of on the questions they were supposed to answer. They spent so much time pretending they were not together that by the time one of their tour ended, it felt like they weren't. They were not searching for each other eyes all of the time, they did not try to steal kisses when they were alone and they were not trying to find excuses for touches.

_I still love you, but I'm exhausted. This is not working. We are not working. I think I can't do this anymore._

They got tired. They have strength enough for everything else except for fighting for themselves. So they agree to maybe try again when they don't have three other lives to ruin with their love.

Harry sees the past they were never allowed to have in every couple that holds hands, in every parent playing with their child, in every demonstration of affection he sees on the streets... But somehow, he can never see the future they can still have. 

Maybe it's because he knows they will never go back to how they were, even if they do get back together someday. They will have so many scars that it will be too much, they will never feel right. Love won't be enough. _They_ won't be enough. 

He takes a drag.

_Louis is my cigarette._

He put Louis between his lips and smoked him in. The smoke was also Louis. The smoke burnt Louis' name on Harry's lips, on his throat, on his lungs. Every time he breathed he could feel Louis' name on his lungs, reminding him he is always going to be there. He can't remember when the consequences started. At first, it was only in a tiny little cell, but, from cell to cell, it spread to his whole body; to the air that got in, to the air that got out, to his words, to his laughs and to his tears; it revolved all of his tissues, his vases, his organs, his heart. It did not run his live, but it was there all the time. He was used to it being benign, but now it was like it was changing to something malignant. The problem wasn't it but what it was doing to everything around it.

_My love for Louis is my cancer._

He hurt from the inside. He hurt in his whole body. He hurt every time something made a string of memory swim inside his head. And since himself was a reminder of Louis, he hurt all of the time. 

He doesn't know if what hurts more are the words that were said and are still ringing in his ears, echoing in his head, shattering him to pieces from the inside; or the words that never met air, the ones he will never know the sound of, the ones that could have changed everything or nothing at all. He will never know.

He wishes that they had shouted at each other more, that they had had more fights. That he had received unforgivable words instead of tears from Louis. Louis' face had showed him everything he didn't want to see because it was mirroring his own. It showed guilt, pain, tiredness, sorrow, hopelessness, defeat and love. 

He wishes he had put into words his desperation. He didn't want to not be Louis'. He didn't know how to not be Louis' anymore. Maybe if his thoughts and his feelings had formed sounds that the other boy could hear, he wouldn't have to know what it feels like. 

It would have been easier to end things hating each other. Maybe he wouldn't feel all the pain that came from knowing they could still be together if they had tried harder. 

He gets up. He will try to find a place that matches his inside.

**XXXXX**

Harry doesn't leave his place for days. 

At first it is because he is full.

He is full of thoughts that keep getting louder, so he screams to be louder than them. He is full of people's voices telling him it is going to be okay, so he doesn't get in touch with anyone. He is full of different feelings that Louis makes him feel, the stronger one being love, so he makes the feelings become tears to try to get rid of them. He is filled with words he wishes he had said, they become hiccups that he can't stop. He is full of Louis' reminders on his body, so he tries to wash and scrub them away as he wishes they would stay there forever. He is full of battles in his brain, neurotransmitters fighting for control over his feelings, making him feel everything at once; so his head hurts and he swallows pills. He has Louis in his head and in his heart, so he tries to drown him with alcohol. He feels that he is still falling, that he has never stopped falling, so he lies on the ground and wishes for the sensation to stop. He feels that he is breaking, so he tries to break everything else in an attempt of maintaining himself together.

He is trying to collect all of the _LouisLouisLouis_ that are inside of him and lock it somewhere he could access only when he wanted to. But Louis is still inked in his bones, burned in his heart, impossible to collect and keep somewhere else, somewhere he doesn't belong.

For a few days he feels that his skin is not supposed to be his, that his heart is at the same time trying to grow so big it will explode and trying to shrink so small it will vanish, that the world has ceased to exist but nobody warned him. He is torn between feeling like he has been less or more alive the last days than he ever was before in his live. 

But after that, he is almost empty.

The pain becomes numbing. It hasn't stopped, but it is now a constant he can deal with. He gets out of bed. His foot touches the ground and he feels cold. He takes a step and he feels determination spreading through his body. He can do this. He will do this. He is such a strong person. He is such a liar.

He is sweaty so he takes a shower. He wishes the sweat was the liquid form of his pain and that it would just go away. He doesn't want to get sweaty for the same reasons again. 

He goes back to his bedroom and looks at the mess he has made. There are memories and things that have more value to him then the price they are worth – things that are Louis' or that the boy has given him – all over the floor, broken and torn and shred to pieces. He knows that he is also broken and torn and shred to pieces, so he looks for the pieces of himself that he has to collect. He puts all the pieces he can back where they belong, but some of them refuse to be glued back. He will try again later. 

He realizes that there are less parts of him than he is made of – there are some parts missing. Parts of him that Louis took with him when he walked away. When _they_ walked away. Maybe Harry doesn't need them. Louis can have them. If he won't have all of Harry, Harry will let him take all the pieces of himself Louis wants to.

**XXXXX**

Fortunately, they don't have to see each other for weeks.

Harry visits his family and lets his friends try to cheer him up. He tries to remember all the other parts of his life that are worth it. All the people he loves and has to look strong for.

He knows he can't look broken because there would be questions that he would not be able to answer. He has to look whole for his fans. So he tries to cover the holes, tries to prepare himself for that.

He puts on layers that are supposed to hide his bruised soul. He rehearsals answers to questions he knows that will be asked. He tries to turn his pain into a smile so that he can wear it like a shield. But one is never really prepared to get the pieces of yourself broke into even smaller parts just with the sight of a person.

When their bodies are inside of the same room for the first time after breaking up, it is weird. It is weird because for the first time they don't know how to act around each other. They don't know what they are allowed to say, where they are allowed to touch, if they are allowed to touch. They were never just friends, not really. They went from strangers to best friends, so they don't have a past they can consult. 

The almost touches, the almost words that they swallow and the eyes that find everything else in the room much more interesting than each other, make Harry want to scream. They also make him want to run so fast that he would feel that his feet don't obey him anymore. He is now made of tears that he has to keep in place so he won't fall apart and flood the floor.

He feels a hand tightening his heart and other punching his insides. They are probably Louis'. 

The other boys try their best to make things less awkward as possibly. Harry is very, very grateful for them. Harry even manages to laugh once. He hears Louis' laughter filling the room as well and looks at him. Louis is probably thinking the same thing as Harry because he looks at the boys and then return his gaze to Harry with a small smile that says _“we're so lucky to have them”_. Harry gives him a smile that he hopes that has written on it nothing more than _“yes, we are”_. Maybe things between them won't be that bad after all.

**XXXXX**

Louis' body was a movie Harry had watched so many times he knew all the lines to – one of those you say the next words before the characters even open their mouths and everybody around you tells you to shut up but you are so proud of yourself that you just smile and continue to mimic it, this time lower. Louis was the first poem Harry had ever loved – one of those you find extremely beautiful and mysterious and you know you don't fully get it, but you love it with your whole heart and reread it all the time.

Harry had learned the language of Louis' eyes. He had tasted his dreams and shared his fears. He had danced with his happiness and faced his anger. He had hugged his tears and drunk his thoughts. He had sucked his stress out and kissed his nightmares away. He hopes he healed more scars than cut new ones. He had touched his heart and let Louis take all of his. But now, now there was a wall surrounding the older boy that Harry couldn't get through. But there were windows. There were so many windows. They let Harry see all the things he once had and can't reach now.

**XXXXX**

Bright light.

Harry blinks.

They are at some red carpet event and there are a lot of people taking photos of them. A lot of flashes.

Another flash.

When Harry opens his eyes again he is looking at Louis. 

Bright light. Blink. Bright light. Blink. Bright light. Blink.

People always call them stars and right now it is the only word Harry can think of to describe Louis. Not as in “someone famous”, but as in a real star. Louis burns as bright as stars. He is made of light. Harry still has the bruises from when he touched him to prove it. And he looks so distant now, Harry thinks he'll probably never be close to him again – not the way he wants to. Sometimes, when he looks at Louis, just like when he looks at stars, he sees only past. And it is such a beautiful past. A reminder of things that were real but might not exist anymore. He wishes they could live in the past and make decades out of months.

**XXXXX**

Harry misses something that never was real. Is it possible?

He misses the future they never had and feels pain for all the things that could be but are not. He hurts because of things that never were and that never will be. He hurts because of all the times they did not interlace their fingers, all those times lips brushed against cheek and ear but not against mouth, all the questions he never answered and all the ones that were never asked, all the words that didn't crawl the walls of his throat and met the fresh air of the world, all the trips they didn't even think about taking, all the times he didn't try to count all of Louis' freckles and all the feelings he didn't express.

Somehow, the pain from something that was never real is worse than the pain from bruises made by actions that happened and words that were spoken.

Harry also misses Louis. More than he ever missed anyone or anything before. He misses Louis' hands fixing his fringe and his clothes; fingertips touching him with intentions that are better explained in bed; trying to find a pattern to the dots on Louis' skin; admiring from very close the curves of eyelashes; ordering their favorite movie food for two; feeling a warm body pressed against his every morning before waking up, during the few seconds when he is not really sleeping but also not yet awake...

But Louis is everywhere and Louis is in front of him. He thinks he might miss Louis even more when he is right there in front of him.

He sees blue everywhere he goes, but never the right tone. Never with the right intensity, with the same heat, with the same power of attraction. He wants blue back. He wants to have blue all to himself.

As time passes, it becomes easier to see Louis. It becomes something he _has_ to do frequently. When he spends a long period of time without seeing him, he starts remembering how they were. The memories dance around him making him feel everything all over again.

But when Louis is right in front of him, he sees them as they are now. He still sees all the little things that made him fall in love with the man in front of him, but he also sees all the reasons they are not together anymore. The differences are a scream piercing his ears that he cannot ignore so it makes it easier to focus on what they are now. 

Not that they are bad in any way, no. He and Louis get along very well – when they met they became best friends for a reason. The problem is in all the things that are missing – Louis from the present is missing from Harry. All the emotions that don't get through. All the intentions that are not there. A barrier that stops possibilities from imagining a future together. They are friends, and maybe that's all they'll ever be from now on. 

**XXXXX**

When they met, it was summer. 

Summer was the warmest season. There was yellow, possibilities and happiness dancing in the air. Sometimes it rained, sometimes it rained a lot, but it didn't bother them that much. As long as the sun would continue to shine bright every time it passed, they could deal with rain – they could dance in it while singing obnoxiously loud because they could deal with rain together.

Lucky for them, the days were longer than the nights. They breathed in waves of summer. They thought, spoke and walked like summer. They let summer hit them and settle in their cavities. They became summer. 

The sunshine had a way to reach all the corners and hidden places of their lives. It would keep them warm even in the darkest hours. It was in the summer that they would run and spin around the house for no apparent reason, that they would smile at everyone they saw and show them what summer looked like in a mouth, that they would do nice things to others because they felt good and wanted everyone to feel that way as well. They felt like screaming at the top of their lungs on top of very tall buildings. They felt that even if they gave a slice of the happiness they were feeling to every single person in the world, there would still be plenty of it left for them. Because even when everything around then was gray, they were color and they were summer.

Harry wishes they had had a longer summer. No one ever wrote a sad song about summer.

When they started to grow apart, it was autumn. 

The leaves began to lose their color and then began to fall. They just stood there watching, trying to see only the beauty in it. But how could something that was dying and falling apart be beautiful?

Harry thinks they should have tried to delay the next season. They should have painted the leaves and glued them back to the trees. They should have painted flowers everywhere they went. They should have told the wind to take their problems away. But they didn't. They just stood there watching the leaves spin while they fell and wondering how long would it take for they to hit ground. Or maybe it was for them.

When they broke up, it was winter.

Harry must have breathed in too many snowflakes because he feels cold. He is stuck outside his home in the coldest winter he has ever lived. He is under feet and feet of snow. It burns him. It burns and buries him. Are snowflakes made of thoughts?

Harry wants spring to arrive soon. He wants the snow to melt. He wants new starts. He wants the flowers to blossom, the days to have color, the birds to sing again, to see life everywhere he looks at. He wants to _feel_ alive.

Sometimes he sees flashes of spring. It is a day when he doesn't cry or feel bad. It is in a baby smiling at him. It is in a good song on the radio that he sings along to, at the top of his lungs. It is in the sound of his laughter accompanied by his friends' laughter – and when it makes his stomach hurt for all the right reasons. It is in his mother's hugs and his sister's smiles. It is in the licks from a dog he is petting. Sometimes it is even in Louis. It is in Louis making him believe he is getting summer back soon. When they look at each other and they can both feel a warm breeze around them. Sometimes spring is gone soon and sometimes spring lingers for hours. 

But even when it stays a little longer, Harry still thinks he is stuck in a winter that will never end. And maybe part of him wants it to not be over. He feels spring approaching the scars Louis left in him and trying to gently take it away. But truth is, he is used to it. He wants the marks Louis gave him. He is used to the pain and to the thoughts stabbing his mind over and over again. If he doesn't have pain, he'll have nothing to feel and he thinks that emptiness might be even worse than what he's drowning in. 

Louis was the compass that guided Harry's ship and now Harry is lost. The water begun to enter his body. It is the anchor that is pulling him down slowly. He is sinking and there is no rope to pull him back anymore. But he doesn't see a point in emerging when Louis won't be there to help him breathe properly again. 

Right now he is drowning in cold and in thoughts of Louis. If he moves he'll touch parts of Louis' body, emotions connected to the boy, flashes of sensations, the feel of his touch. He'll hear his favorite laughter and whispers and _iloveyou_ s. He will feel moans reverberating through his body and butterflies will be flying inside of him. He will feel like he is running, like he is singing, like he is jumping, like he is flying. He will be able to smell shampoo, eggs Benedict, the grass from a football pitch, skin on skin with sweat. He will feel so much it will make his feelings overflow in the form of tears. A few screams and waves of rage and jealousy and sadness will crush against him too, but he tries not to concentrate on that. He does not want to focus on the reasons he is drowning because at least there he can still hear his first and second favorite sounds: Louis existing and, for a few moments, even if it's just in his head, both of them existing together, as one. And he doesn't want to give up on that, even if he gave up on everything else already.

**Author's Note:**

> The first time I listened to The Ice Is Getting Thinner by Death Cab for Cutie was a couple of days after I wrote the last part and I thought it fit so well and it was perfect. That's where the title comes from, btw. And maybe, if you have the time, you should listen to it. (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Y_7avY5NpZ4)
> 
> Also, sorry? And thank you if you read the whole thing because this is the first story I ever finished writing in my life and I don't even know what I am doing so yeah, thank you.


End file.
